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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27008305">A Is for Alien [HIATUS]</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Periodiche3/pseuds/Periodiche3'>Periodiche3</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>THE CONSTANT [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Original Work</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>1990s, 19th Century, 2000s, 20th Century, ABCs, Abuse, Aliens, Alphabet, Alternate Universe - 1990s, Alternate Universe - 2000s, Animatronics, Anthology, Anti-Hero, Attempted Murder, Autism, Autism Spectrum, Bad Ending, Basement, Blood, Blood and Gore, Body Horror, Brutal Murder, Bunnies, Cannibalism, Cats, Character Death, Character(s) of Color, Child Death, Child Murder, Childhood Trauma, Children, Clowns, Creepy, Cross-Posted on Wattpad, Demonic Possession, Demons, Dolls, Dreams, Dreams and Nightmares, Drugs, Evil, Evil entities, Fear, Fear of the Elderly, Female Anti-Hero, Filming, Ghosts, Gore, Happy Ending, Heroes &amp; Heroines, Horror, Hybrids, Ice Cream, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Injury, LGBTQ Character, LGBTQ Themes, Letters, Loss of Innocence, Mascots, Mental Health Issues, Mild Gore, Mild Language, Mind Control, Mind Manipulation, Monsters, Murder, Murderer, Murderers, Neurodiversity, Night Terrors, Nightmares, No Romance, No Sexual Content, Obsession, Original Character Death(s), Original Character(s), Original Universe, Other, Paranormal, Parasites, Phobias, Pigs, Plot Twists, Possessed, Possessed Mascots, Possession, Psychological Horror, References to Drugs, Religious Content, Religious Discussion, Religious Themes, Scary, Scary Clowns, Secrets, Sexual Humor, Short Stories, Some Humor, Survival Horror, Teeth, Telekinesis, Thriller, Time Loop, Trauma, Undead, Violence, Zombie Apocalypse, Zombies, beasts - Freeform, collection, poc characters, possessed Animatronics, references, sand</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-10-14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-11-04</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 04:07:31</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>16,339</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27008305</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Periodiche3/pseuds/Periodiche3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Synopsis: A IS FOR ALIEN is an anthology of short stories corresponding to a letter in the alphabet. In these twenty-six tales, experience through the third person point of view the secrets of a basement, a growing tension in a family of cannibalistic murderers, and something horrid stirring beneath the sand.</p><p> </p><p>WARNING: CONTAINS CHILD DEATH, BLOOD, ABUSE, DRUGS, AND MINOR MATURE THEMES.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>THE CONSTANT [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1971133</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. A IS FOR ALIEN</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>TW // implied child death , minor slut shaming , minor body horror , dismemberment , and language...</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>After the fire was extinguished the aroma of seared flesh pervaded the atmosphere of the home, a smell so thick and rich it was practically a taste.</p><p>Aaron, pudgy and awkward, sat on the edge of the kitchen counter's marble surface. At either side of him, both clammy hands grip the rim, knuckles pale. Beneath one palm is a dagger, the blade tinged with some pink substance. His stout legs dangle from the edge, the left pant leg rolled up to reveal multiple puncture wounds the size of capri cigarette butts, making a wide circle around his shin and calf, blood trickling from them. He is a young boy with a shock of curly, bright orange hair. Pallid faced, the only colour in it the freckles peppered over his nose and cheeks, and the illumination of the kitchen light above making the sweat slicking his round face gleam. His eyes are forest-green, beady, and glassy with tears. There's a faraway look within them as he stares off. He snivels.</p><p>The older girl enters the kitchen that is integrated with the living area and dining room, a first aid kit clutched to her chest. She is perhaps seventeen, tall with delicate features and strawberry-blonde hair fit into a chignon. She moves with urgency, limber legs moving in long struts, a perturbed expression stamped on her face. She drops down in front of the boy. The older girl peers at his wound with widened, horrified eyes before shaking her head, wavering whatever thoughts she had away. She sets the kit in her lap and begins to withdraw the necessary items to cleanse and bandage his wound.</p><p>"I've probably been injected with some kind of poison," he says after a beat, speaking in a small, tremulous voice and the pink of his lower lip quivering. "Nancy? Am I gonna die?"</p><p>"No," she says quickly. She dabs a cotton swab soaked with antiseptic against the wound, and he flinches at the contact. A burning, lacerating pain surges up his leg, making him suck in a breath through his teeth. When he adjusts, he gives her a doubtful look, Nancy meeting his gaze briefly before adverting her eyes back to her task. She suddenly grows aware of the beads of sweat forming at her temples and the foreboding dread in her abdomen. Nancy cleans the wound tentatively. "I don't know-- shut up and stop moving."</p><p>She was thankful the blood was already beginning to clot. Past bandaging and cleaning the wound, she did not know how to properly treat an accident victim. When she was sure that she finished cleaning the wound, she began bandaging.</p><p>In the living area, Alison kneels in front of the bricked fireplace, leaning forward and peering into its contents. She stares for a long couple of seconds, eyes large and mouth slightly ajar. She is nearly identical to Aaron, but lean and coltish. Her face suddenly crumples into a look of disgust, nose wrinkling and lips raising whilst the corners twist downward. "Gnarly," she grouses to herself and takes the iron poker by her foot. She raises it and, with some hesitation, pokes the end into the charred corpse. The thing had an elongated, eel-like body. The head is wide, flattened with a short, rounded snout. It had slits for nostrils and no eyes. Its gaping maw is filled with multiple rows of sharp teeth, a forked tongue hanging out from the side of its mouth. In the fire, it had curled in on itself.</p><p>When she pokes it, it makes a strange, high-pitched deflating noise and begins to shrivel up some more. She startles at this and scrambles backwards until her back hits the edge of the tea table, iron poker still gripped in both hands. Nancy is applying the tape when she snaps her head up at the sound, Aaron as well.</p><p>Nancy shoots up from her position, looking into the living area from behind the counter. "Alison?" she calls, voice rising. Alison says nothing, only staring in horror at the thing before her. She quickly turns to Aaron, "I'll be back. Try and finish it up yourself." He gives a hesitant nod, and she shoves the tape into his hands.</p><p>Nancy rounds the bar and sprints into the living room. She drops by her sister's side, prying the poker from her clammy fingers. She grips it in both hands and points it threateningly towards the fireplace, elbows shaking. Alison presses her palms against her ears, screwing her eyes shut and burying her face into her sister's shoulder. Nancy watches, still poised to attack, as it slowly dissolves. It's leathery skin bursts and spews a pinkish goo that drips onto the bricks below, a strange gas emitting from it. It's a filthy, rancid smell that overrides the sickly-sweet aroma of charred flesh. Nancy takes the turtleneck of her sweater with one hand, bringing it to cover her mouth and nostrils. It continues to sizzle and dissolve for several long moments that felt like distressing hours until it shrinks into a strange pile of seared skin. The deflating noise has faded into a quiet.</p><p>Alison remains pressed against her sister, whimpering quietly. Nancy doesn't move, breathing heavily and staring wide-eyed. <em>God, what the fuck was that thing?</em> she thinks franticly. <em>What the fuck was it?</em></p><p>She turns to look to Alison, slowly lowering the turtleneck from her face. The smell has dispersed in the air, not as strong anymore. "You okay?" she asks in a low voice, bringing a hand to rub her sister's back. "Did it touch you? Alice?"</p><p>Alison lifts her head off from her shoulder, gingerly lowering her hands. She stares at the fireplace. "S-sorry."</p><p>Nancy shakes her head. "No--just don't touch it, alright? We aren't sure what it is..."</p><p>Nancy looks around. A sudden sense of panic ascents within her chest and she stands, dropping the poker onto the carpet. "Alison, where's Jason? You were watching him, weren't you?"</p><p>"Jason's in Oma's bedroom. I took him upstairs 'cause he was tired." Alison nods to herself, as to confirm this. "They're sleeping."</p><p>Nancy sighs, nostrils flaring. She folds her arms behind her head, shutting her eyes and stretching. She stays like this for a long, prolonged moment. "This is crazy," she mutters to herself.</p><p>"Huh?" Alison looks up at her, toying with the plastic aglet of her shoestring.</p><p>Nancy drops her arms and opens her eyelids. She lowers herself to pick up the poker and places it against the fireplace. She turns to Alison, pointing a pink polished finger and wagging it. "For the rest of the day, no more going outside. Alright?" She looks into the fireplace, grimacing. "There could be more of <em>those</em> out there."</p><p>"Alien." Aaron mutters in the kitchen, applying the last layer of tape over the wound. "Must've been, never seen anything like it. 'Less it's some mutated lizard."</p><p>Nancy shakes her head, rolling her eyes and groaning. Alison stands suddenly, jolting upwards. "What about my stuff?" she asks, frowning. "I left my ball outside! And my bike."</p><p>"Don't worry about it, OK?" Nancy turns away and begins to make her way back into the kitchen.</p><p>"But I am!" she nearly shouts, making propellers with her arms. She follows behind Nancy, whining. "What if they get stolen?"</p><p>Nancy turns on her, "Oma lives surrounded by a bunch of trees! Why would anyone come out all the way here to steal a bunch o' children's toys?"</p><p>Alison says nothing, staring up at her sister with large wet eyes and a flushed face, brows drawn and lower lip poking out. Nancy sighs deeply and pinches the bridge of her nose between her thumb and forefinger, screwing her eyes shut for a brief moment. "I'm sorry, Alice," she says, and Alison lowers her head in defeat, folding her arms and scowling at the ground. "I can't risk it. Mom would be pissed if she found that I let <em>both</em> of you get hurt under <em>my</em> care."</p><p>Nancy moves over to the sink and lowers herself. She opens the cabinet door and hanging from the side is a roll of trash bags. She snatches one from the roll and slams the cabinet door shut. She tosses the bag to Alison who lets it drop onto the floor, staring.</p><p>"Open that bag up," she says, waving a hand and moving past her.</p><p>Alison's demeanor is taken over by a sudden eagerness and the corner of Nancy's mouth twitches, fighting a knowing smile. Alison bends over to take the garbage bag and grins. She squints her eyes and shakes the bag open with extended arms. Nancy returns into the living area and retrieves the poker, tapping the sharper end against the fireplace. She steps around so that she is in front of the fireplace, peering down at the seared skin that the creature left behind. She shakes her head, nose wrinkling.</p><p>"Hey, where did this med kit come from?" Aaron asks out loud, peering over at Nancy from the kitchen. He raises the first aid kit over his head, shaking it. "Nance?"</p><p>Nancy lifts the skin with the end of the poker, suppressing the urge to gag when the pink substance drips from the skin onto the bricks. "Under the sink in the guest bathroom," she responds without turning to him. He hops down from the counter with a grunt, grimacing at the pain in his leg, and leaves the kitchen. Alison moves over to her side, open bag outstretched. She shakes the bag some, grinning. Gingerly, she raises the skin and gradually moves it over the carpet and above the bag. She drops it in.</p><p>Nancy mutters, cringing and turning her head, "oh my god! Ew!"</p><p>She tosses the firepoker aside, it clings against the bricks. Nancy motions for the bag, wriggling her fingers, and Alison hands it to her. She ties the bag twice and shoves it back into Alison's arms. "Trash," she tells her, waving a hand dismissively, fingernails glinting beneath the overhead lights.</p><p>Alison peers down at the bag, shaking its contents before carrying it into the kitchen. Nancy watches her for a moment before releasing a deep sigh. She plops down onto the couch, arms dropping between her thighs. She stares into the fireplace.</p><p> </p><p>"Pizza guy's a no-show."</p><p>Nancy steps away from the blinds and draws the smokey plum curtains together. She turns on her heel to face her siblings perched near the old television that hangs above the fireplace. The living room is dim, the only illumination emitting from the TV screen. It displayed, with a lurid rainbow effect: <em>Please stand by...we are experiencing technical difficulties.</em> On the lumpy couch, Alison sits forward, elbows pressed against her knees and chin resting in her palms.</p><p>"Damn it, the first half is almost over," she mutters for a second time, fingers grazing over her lips. Normally, Nancy heard this when there was something wrong with the TV, she assumed this line came from their father or television. Aaron's beside her, one leg laid over the armrest, head propped against a cushion. He's playing on his handheld empire, holding it close to his face.</p><p>Nancy props her hands on her hips and lets out a sigh. She shrugs and shakes her head. "Okay. I suppose I could cook." She looks over to them and raises a brow. "That is, unless you guys wanna fix yourselves something...?"</p><p>Oma had plenty of sugary sweets put away in her cabinets and fatty meals in her fridge. She would write down the favorite sweets of all her younger grandchildren and made sure to stock up on them. Often, there was a boy from town who would visit and bring Oma groceries. A young, sturdy dark teen named Lamar. He was always well dressed, soft-spoken and their grandmother paid him generously. It was a well-known fact among the twins that on the days Lamar would visit there was a sudden change in Nancy's choice of clothing and a shift in her normally moody attitude. She softened her voice when she spoke to him, carefully choosing her words, often twirling a lock of her hair with one finger, or batting her eyes. She had a crush on Lamar.</p><p>"Unless you guys wanna fix yourselves something," says Alison, sitting up and kicking her legs in the air.</p><p>Aaron sits up on the couch, grunting. He scoffs and says, "You can't cook for shit. The last time you cooked you gave mom Campylobacteriosis."</p><p>"What's that?" asks Alison meekly, wrinkling her nose.</p><p>"Type of food poisoning. Had mom on the toilet for days." Alison gives him a wide-eyed look and says nothing.</p><p>"I'll have you know," Nancy starts, crossing the room. She pauses by the staircase, leaning on the rail. Her hands gesture animatedly, "I've completed culinary, so I'm quite the cook now. Our class cooked a meal for a nursing home once, I was told that they thought my lasagna was <em>trés exquise</em>!"</p><p>"Are you sure they weren't just being friendly?" he retorts with a roll of his eyes. He rises from the couch with his game in one hand. He huffs and looks around. "Well," he says, "who's gonna feed Jason tonight?"</p><p>Nancy is moving halfway up the steps when he asks. "I'm waking him up now," she responds, one hand against the rail.</p><p>When she clambers up the stairs, she finds herself pausing at the top of the staircase. She stares down the darkened hall, the door at the end looming seemingly wickedly, light spilling from the gap beneath. She sucks in a breath and takes long strides down the hallway, hands balled at her sides and her knuckles pale. Slender fingers wrap around the door's golden handle, the metal cool beneath her digits. She raps her knuckles against the door's surface twice. Silence follows and she raises her hand to knock again until a muffled voice responds. Nancy twists the knob and pushes the door open.</p><p>Like every other inch of the house, Oma's room was simple and obsolescent. It was a standard, middling sized room. She had her bed against one wall, carefully made, a wooden bedside and antique lamp next to it, and a large wooden dresser against another wall. Jason lies at the edge of Oma's bed, curled up and small chest rising and falling slowly as he sleeps. Her pale walls were decorated with portraits of deceased family members that might've lived through the late 50's and several wooden crucifixes. There was a rocking chair in the corner by the window, the white curtains draping one the carpet. There was a vanity-chair combo across from the door, the mirror lined with bulbs that reminded Nancy of those that a young Hollywood star would have owned, casting an uncanny glow. The surface of the dresser was clustered with cosmetics and old fashioned, unused perfumes.</p><p>She could see Oma's reflection in the mirror; the older woman sat with one elbow pressed against the edge of the surface, fingers intertwined in her stringy graying hair in one hand. She admired herself, face lightly made up, the corners of her thin lips forming a grin. Nancy stands in the doorway for several beats. Oma's eyes flicker over to her through the mirror, and the mood in her eyes suddenly shifts into something hateful.</p><p>"Shut the door!" she sneers, one hand gesturing widely towards the door. Nancy startles and steps in, closing the door behind her. Oma groans and pinches the bridge of her nose, turning in her seat. "It's already damn freezing, you trying to bring all the cold air in here?"</p><p>Nancy says nothing and crouches near the edge of the bed where Jason lies. She found that their encounters were better when she kept quiet. Oma scowls and folds her arms over her chest watching as Nancy nudges Jason gently, rousing him from his sleep. Jason whines softly and turns over, his back facing her.</p><p>Nancy frowns and tucks both hands beneath him, trying to lift him. Jason was four and quite heavy. He was a paunchy child with short brown hair, and freckled skin. He looked more like Boone, their stepfather, than their mother.</p><p>When Boone married their mother, Nancy wanted to hate him, she wanted to rebel against him in any way she could. It was only three months after their father was sent to prison, and she felt that her mother was being disloyal. But Boone was kind to the kids and their mother, and he seemed to genuinely love her mom. He was the manager of a famous toy company, The Box, and made ten times the amount of money mom made every month at the old diner. Boone changed mom's life around. From once living in a dingy two-bedroom apartment, he aided in helping them move into a spacious two story house with six bedrooms (Boone and mom had separate rooms) and a guest room. He was a burly bald man, gentle, and hard working. He often took mom out on late night dates, shopping out of town or romantic walks.</p><p>Mom called him <em>Boonie</em>; he called her <em>Sandy</em>. Nancy thought it was repulsively sweet how affectionate they were towards each other.</p><p>"Jason," she coos, lifting his head from the quilted blanket with floral printing. He stirs, brows furrowed and lower lip poking out. "It's awake time. Do you want some chicken strimps?"</p><p>Microwaved chicken strips were Jason's favorite. Words were still hard to pronounce at Jason's age. Instead of spaghetti it was <em>pasgetti</em> and instead of chicken strips it was chicken <em>strimps</em>. Hearing this, Jason's eyes open and he squints, struggling to sit up. He brings a small hand up to rub at his eye and yawns.</p><p>Oma tuts and shakes her head. "Poor boy, he's worn out from all that play," she says, watching Jason and placing hand to her chest.</p><p>"You always let him stay up all night, Oma," Nancy says lowly, "that's why he's sleepy."</p><p>Oma snaps her head to her. Her thin lips press together tightly in fury, her pale piercing eyes widening, and brows drawn. "Shut up, you whore!" she hisses and Nancy startles again, this time looking at her grandmother with large eyes. Oma stands, one hand against the surface of the vanity mirror's table to help her rise. She points a wizened finger at her and Nancy shrinks back against the bed, "how <em>dare</em> you talk to me in such a way. No manners, I tell you. I know how to raise children; I've got some of my own thank you very much! All you know is how to spread your legs."</p><p>Oma shakes her head and groans loudly, moving to sit back down. There's a lull of silence that hangs in the air, Nancy stares at her grandmother and Jason seems to be peering at her with concern as well. Not realizing she's been holding her breath, Nancy shudders and exhales.</p><p>Oma hadn't always been like this. There was once a time, before father had gone to jail and the twins were only toddlers, Oma was different. When Nancy was younger, she was babied by her grandmother, smothered with constant love. "Try not to be upset," mother had told her one day when Oma had suddenly lashed out at her. Nancy was crying. "Oma's illness just makes her act different and forget important things. Just know that Oma's in there somewhere, and she loves you." Sometimes she wished she had the power to suck the illness out of Oma, to toss it away and bring back her sweet and fun-loving grandmother. She wanted to rid them of the foul-mouthed demon that wore her grandmother's skin.</p><p>The older woman grits her teeth and presses a palm against her forehead. "I tell you," she mutters, followed by a low groan. Nancy takes her chance. She hastily snatches Jason by the wrist and he hardly makes a fuss as she guides him out the bedroom, shutting the door behind them quietly.</p><p> </p><p>"Munch Stars, Munch Stars," Aaron mutters absently in a sing-song voice, shaking a box of <em>Munch Stars</em>, a space themed cereal. The end of the pen is pressed against his lower lip as he examines the back of the box, looking over the mini games. He's standing by the counter in the kitchen, Alison close beside him. She peers at the crossword puzzle he's working on and quickly loses interest.</p><p>Alison backs away from him and saunters out of the kitchen, humming. She decides to head upstairs to the guest room where she slept. When she makes it to the top of the staircase, she pauses to peer down the hall, overhearing the muffle of conversation coming from the door at the end. She moves on. She enters her guest room just on the other end of the hallway and shuts the door behind her.</p><p>The room is quite simple: There's a bed with gray bedding, above it a painting of a lone boat in the middle of the ocean with a wooden frame. There was something eerily unsettling about the painting that she couldn't quite express why but it made her light headed. There's a window beside the bed, a small dresser pressed below it. On the other side of the bed was the bedside. The dresser was empty, she hadn't bothered putting her belongings in there. Her suitcase sat in the corner of the room, overstuffed.</p><p>Alison crosses the room to kneel at the other side of the bed. She taps her fingers against the wooden flooring of the room before lifting the bed skirt and sliding a hand underneath. She stretches her hand a tad further beneath the bed and finally her fingers wrap around it. She slides the small bag from under the bed and sits up to set it in her lap. She hadn't thrown the bag away when Nancy instructed her to, it seemed to interesting to do so. She brought it into the bedroom for further inspection, which now seemed the proper time to do. She used the nail of her thumb to toy with the knots Nancy made, and after a few beats she releases a sigh when she manages to get them undone.</p><p>"Atta-boy!" she says in a low, gruff voice.</p><p>She digs her hand into the bag and slides out the leathery skin of the deceased creature. She presses the skin together with her forefinger and thumb, peering at it with attentiveness. There's some wetness between the skin that makes it slide against each other. The pink matter drips from the skin, and with swiftness she lets it fall into the palm of her other hand. She stares at it and raises to her nose. Alison shuts her eyes and sniffs; it has a strong syrupy smell. Curious, she brings it to her mouth and sticks her tongue out to lap at it. It tastes sweet on the tip of her tongue and she smacks her mouth, the corners of her lips quirking. She stares at the skin between her fingers and brushes her thumb over it.</p><p>At once, she felt like she was floating, she could no longer feel the flooring beneath her, she couldn't feel the sensation in her fingertips. Alison barks out an involuntary laugh. She struggles to get to her feel, her knees feel wobbly and strange. Like sparkling water.</p><p>She lifts her head and stares up at the ceiling, the stipples swell and shrink back, as though the ceiling is breathing. She giggles. Alison nearly stumbles as she turns, teeth biting into the flesh of her lower lip, her legs no longer cooperating but she leans against the bed to remain upright. She grips the skin hard in her palm. The walls shake softly around her, and she squints up at the painting, blood dribbling from her lip. She hardly takes notice. Her face is flushed hard, the bright red freckles sprinkled on her face hardly visible and sweat trickles down the side of her bed. The boat floats on the steady flowing water and she can hear the waves lapping at the shore echo in her ears.</p><p>Alison can no longer remain upright and drops on top of the bed, sinking into the bedding. She brings the skin up to her sight, staring at it with half lidded eyes, the pink staining her palm.</p><p><em>Take it, take it</em>, a soft voice chants beside her.</p><p>She opens her mouth and stuffs the flesh into her mouth with both hands, teeth scraping the skin of her fingers. She mutters something, voice muffled with the skin in her mouth and chews.</p><p> </p><p>Aaron groans and struggles to sit up in the bed.</p><p>His body felt clammy, slick with sweat and his limbs swollen and heavy. He lifts a shaky hand to view and gasps. The moonlight the filters most of the bedroom, his hand reddened and bloated, his fingers like fat, large pork links. Panic forms a lump in his throat, and he tosses off the sheets covering up his lower half. His legs up to his thighs were like fat logs, the pant legs of his pajama pants like the casing skin of a sausage, looking tight although he could not feel the pressure. He slaps at his thigh a couple of times then drops back down, head hitting his pillow. Nothing. Aaron felt exhausted from sitting up for so long. He lets out a soft sound of distress, lips trembling.</p><p>He wonders if it was something he ingested, a allergic reaction maybe. Aaron didn't think it was the oatmeal from earlier in the morning, or the bologna sandwich and Gushers from lunch. And it couldn't have been the <em>Munch Stars</em>, he'd been eating those for years. Maybe it was the milk.</p><p>
  <em>Mom said she read cow's milk wasn't good for the human body...</em>
</p><p>Aaron screws his eyes shut and shakes his head hard. Their mother had been reading from strange websites that had been changing her perception of everything, from what foods she should eat to what she should put in her hair. Once, she read that if women on their monthlies held newborn babies, the baby would get a bad case of constipation. She wouldn't let Nancy hold newborn Jason for a year when her monthlies came around until Boone had to denounce the alleged statement.</p><p>The bandaging surrounding his wound itched badly, it was the only thing he somehow could feel in his leg, and it progressively got worse since he had been bitten. He hopes the thing that bit him didn't inject any dangerous poison into him. He grunts as he moves to sit up once more. He leans forward to reach for the bandaging, he begins to pick at it with the blunt tip of his fingernail but the fat on his finger seems to keep him from doing so. Aaron blows out a sigh and leans back to reach for a pencil sitting on the wooden surface of the bedside. The tip of the pencil is sharp enough to tear through the bandaging and it takes him a long couple of moments to remove all the bandaging wrapped around his swollen leg.</p><p>His pudgy, fat fingers rub against the puncture wounds dried with dark blood. He stares with wide eyes. Sharp looking, dark tips stick out from them. They wiggle.</p><p> </p><p>Nancy jolts upwards in the bed, clutching the bed sheets to her chest.</p><p>She breathes heavily, chest rising and falling, and glances around the room with wide eyes. An abnormal shape sits in the corner of the room, rocking ever so softly, and Nancy holds her breath and freezes. She stares at it. It is until her eyes adjust to the darkness, she recognizes the shape as the old wooden rocking chair that once belonged to her aunt when she was young. Nancy breathes out a revealed sigh and plops back down.</p><p>She shuts her eyes. She could hardly remember if the dream she had was a nightmare. Small fragments of her dream hid beneath her lids, like images. She could remember a pink stuffed rabbit, the face of a cute boy she couldn't recognize, and pink roller skates. She sighs longingly. Maybe it was a romantic dream where a guy gives her gifts and asks her to skate with him at the roller rink, she wonders. <em>Too bad I can't remember...</em></p><p>
  <em>Thump! Thud!</em>
</p><p>Nancy opens her eyes and stares up at the ceiling. The ceiling was dingy, and she could spot a spider web in the far-right corner. She chews her lower lip and prays no spiders actually resided there.</p><p><em>Thud!</em> A piercing scream tears through the silence of the night, one carrying pure terror and pain.</p><p>Nancy gasps and sits up in her bed, gripping the blankets between her fingers. "Oh no," she murmurs to herself and kicks off the sheets. She steps out of the bed, the wooden flooring cool beneath the soles of her bare feet. Nancy hurries for the bedroom door but pauses just as she reaches for the knob. What if Oma's having another fit? What if there are armed burglars?</p><p>
  <em>Who would wanna steal a bunch o' children's toys?</em>
</p><p>Nancy moves back into the room and approaches the closet. She pulls open the bi-fold doors and green eyes land on the baseball bat leaning against the corner of one wall. Nancy reaches for it and grasps it, fingers gripping the handle. It belonged to her dad, and she never traveled without it. He gifted it to her when she turned nine and joined the guppies, a local kid's baseball team. She stopped playing when she turned fourteen and found interest in track, later cheerleading. She steps back from the closet to regard the weight of the bat, startling when another thumping sound makes the walls vibrate with its impact. She nods to herself and rushes out the bedroom, equipped with the bat in both hands.</p><p>When she enters the hall, she turns her head towards Oma's room where the light creeped from the cracked door. She spots silhouettes moving from beneath the gap between the door. She hurries up to the door, the sounds of Oma's gasps and sobs and Jason's wailing growing louder.</p><p>Nancy, feeling a tad heroic from the sudden adrenaline, kicks open the bedroom door and lets out a shout. She raises the bat up in defense.</p><p>Oma lies on the floor near the edge of her bed. She's nude, her clothing shredded beside her, head turned towards Nancy. Her stomach is split open, a pool of blood growing fast beneath her, her intestines spilling out. Her face is pale, tears spilling from her eyes and blood spattered on her face. Her eyes are gray, the light in them slipping away. She's still gasping and twitching, blood dripping from her mouth and down her chin. The beast standing on all fours above her slurps nosily as it consumes her entrails, blood surrounding it's mouth as it turns Nancy's way. It reminds her of a dog eating spaghetti, almost appearing comical if not for the situation. It has no eyes, she notes briefly, and she's reminded of the creature that scurried into the house after biting her brother. It looks similar to it, only larger with small spikes on it's limbs.</p><p>"Ancy!" Jason wails from the corner on the other side of her. He's lying on the floor face flushed and warm tears running down the corner of his cheek. Blood trickled from his hairline, and she thinks he might have been thrown and hit his head.</p><p><em>That's my grandma.</em> She's rooted to the spot, bat slipping from her clammy grasp and breathing uncontrolled. She hardly noticed when Jason approaches her and tugs on her night gown, which he normally did when he wanted to be picked up. The large creature returns to feasting on her grandmother, digging into her stomach with it's snout and eating more of her. <em>Eating my grandma. It's eating her!</em></p><p>Nancy shakes her head hard, feeling tears sting her eyes. She had to get her siblings. She slowly kneels and allows him to climb on her, and he whimpers as he does so, wrapping his arms around her tightly. Jason had quite the grip. Bat still equipped, Nancy hurried out the room and back into the hall. Behind her, she hears the creature make a strange guttural sound and she pumps her legs faster. She makes it the bedroom door where she knew Aaron slept and slipped in, shutting the door behind her. He slept in Opa's old room which was left mostly untouched whilst he was currently away in a hospital downtown, lying in a bed surrounded by medical equipment and fighting for his life.</p><p>She nearly calls for her brother but stops herself, putting a hand to her mouth. It's dark but moonlight slips through the blinds easily, and her eyes widen at the hulky silhouette at the end of the room. It's another one of the creatures, standing on it's hind legs and clawing at it's face. It tears away what looks to be a strip of skin with a sickly noise, what appeared to be blood spattering the wall. It growls, a low guttural sound. Nancy shudders involuntarily, suddenly feeling lightheaded and weak in the knees.</p><p>"Oh no," she mutters and backs against the door, bumping Jason up against it. Jason tightens his hands around her and whimpers. Her trembling fingers feel for the knob just as it turns it's head to face her, hissing and hunching it's back, tail rising.</p><p>She flings open the door and escapes back into the hallway, snapping her head to the end of the hall where the second beast stood in the doorway of Oma's bedroom. It cranes it's neck, teeth glinting in the light. The creature in front of her leaps forward but Nancy's quick to turn on her heel, belting down the hallway, feet pounding against the flooring. Her breathing was sharp and frantic, heart pumping fast at the sound of clawed feet scraping the floor as she felt it gaining on her.</p><p>The door at the end of the hall is slightly ajar, and she bursts through, the door hitting the wall. She nearly stumbles into the room but catches herself. Nancy turns and slams the door. She startles when she hears a thud come from the other side of the door, stepping back. She lets out a shaky exhale, trembling all over. There's a quiet hanging in the air, Jason's whimpers, and her heavy breathing the only noises that fill her ears.</p><p>"Down, Jason," she whispers, and crouches, allowing him to climb off her back. He moves to sit on the carpet, legs crossed in front of him.</p><p>She looks to the bed and cringes, shredded skin and torn clothing littered on the bed. Blood stains the covers and the carpet, and her eyes follow as it leads to the bedroom door. She doesn't want to think about what could have happened.</p><p>
  <em>Thud!</em>
</p><p>She snaps her head up at the door, eyes widening. She hears something growl loudly and scratch at the door, she involuntarily steps back. After a beat, another thud sounds followed by more. Nancy looks around frantically and her eyes land on the dresser by the window. Hastily, she pushes the dresser from across the room to block the door. The wooden dresser is short and lightweight, as it was mostly empty, so she completed the task with ease. The thudding had grown faster, the force making the door shudder with every impact.</p><p>Not enough, she thinks indignantly and sets down the bat. Nancy makes her way to the bed and lowers herself at the end, pressing her palms beneath the foot board. She flares her nostrils and lifts, a straining sound emitting from her throat. Jason watches her, moving back against a wall and hands over his head, as she drags the bed to the door. She props it up against the door, hidden between the dresser and the bed, and she takes a moment to breathe before sliding cautiously from beneath it.</p><p>Nancy moves back to scrutinize her handy work. It seems to stand for a beat, only to slide from the door's surface and sit up against the dresser. The door continued to shudder. Glancing up at the door, she spotted a crack forming in the middle of the plywood, a row of jagged teeth sticking out of it. Her pulse was racing fast, and she realizes that she's clammy all over. It's chewing through the door. Great.</p><p>She perks up suddenly. "The attic," she murmurs to herself and peers up at the ceiling, after a moment her eyes land on the attic hatch just by one corner of the room. She remembered her grandmother's attic from her younger days. Before Oma's illness, whenever her parents would come to take her back home, she would climb the bedside to pull the hatch and hide in the attic until they found her.</p><p>The ceiling was low, but she still needed something to boost her up to reach the string attached to the hatch. She pushes the bedside beneath the hatch and stands on it, catching herself when she leans forward. Jason begins to whine; the hole in the door had grown larger, allowing the head of the creature to peer in. Nancy takes the string and pulls, and the staircase lowers.</p><p>She hops off the wooden bedside and moves to pick up her bat. "Up the stairs, Jason," she says, and ushers him towards the staircase. He hesitates, looking up at her, before moving up the steps deliberately.</p><p>There's a crash and Nancy startles, snapping her head towards the doorway. The beast has broken through the door. She turns to Jason and pushes him up the stairs, shouting for him to move faster. He scrambles up the stairs and manages to make it inside the attic, from above he peers down at her with large wet eyes as she begins to make her way up.</p><p>There's a hissing noise behind her and Nancy turns to see one of the beasts, the other moving in the doorway and clambering over the makeshift barricade. It's so close that when it gapes it's maw in a inconceivable grin, revealing those multiple rows of teeth and saliva, she could feel the noxious stench coming from it's mouth and fanning her face. She scrambles back against the stairs, heart fluttering in her throat and chest tightening. Clammy fingers nearly loose grip of the handle, but she remains a grip.</p><p><em>No.</em> She sucks in a shaky breath and clenches her jaw, brows furrowing. The bat is heavy and trembles in her palm as she raises it, shouting as she drives it into the side of it's head. The creature wails and tumbles off the lower half of the steps, onto the carpet with a loud thud that makes the floor tremble.</p><p>The other snarls and jumps forward, latching on to the steps as the first slithers behind. She raises her bat again, breathing heavy and poised to attack.</p><p>The creature's jaw opens, revealing it's many teeth, and lurches forward. It engulfs the entire bat, and it's jagged teeth rips through the flesh of her wrist, blood spurting from the wound. A scream rips from Nancy's throat, hot tears sprang to her eyes, and above her Jason cries but she can't hear him over her own shrieking.</p><p>The second beast lets out a deep cackling noise, sounding eerily human. The beast that has a hold of her wrist clamps it's jaw, it's teeth digging further into her and Nancy wails. A sharp, heated pain shot up her arm, overwhelming her senses, and she feels the teeth break through muscle, vein, and bone. She convulses in agony, heart pounding hard in her ears, tears and snot spilling down her face. The beast doesn't let go, intent on keeping it's grip, and she's faintly reminded of their late Saint Bernard, Pretty-boy. Pretty-boy liked this old fluffy pink blanket Nancy owned when she was fourteen, and they would often fight over it in a competitive game of tug-of-war. He had quite the hold.</p><p>The beast growls.</p><p><em>No choice</em>, the thought flashes through her head and the clammy fingers of her other hand move to grip the side of the attic's entrance. She whimpers, lower lip trembling and lets out a blood curdling, high pitched shriek. She pulls, the sickly sound of muscle tearing and bone fracturing filling her ears. The beast huffs and growls louder, pulling backwards. Considering it's size, it should have sent her falling to the bottom of the steps with a single tug.</p><p>
  <em>Snap!</em>
</p><p>Nancy falls back against the stairs; the beast tumbles down from the few steps it leaned on. She breathes unevenly through agape lips, face pale and eyes wide as she brings her hand less arm to view. Blood spurted from where her hand had been torn, the broken bone visible. She pulls herself out of shock, shaking her head, and begins to pull herself up into the attic just as the fallen creature sits up.</p><p>The second beast produces a trilling sound from it's throat and springs forward, gripping the lower half of the stairs. It's just below her feet, her upper half within the attic, and she lets out a cry as she lands a hard kick in the top of it's head. It stumbles back but remains on the stairs, and the minor pause gives Nancy enough time to clamber into the attic. "Move!" she shouts, shoving Jason out of her way with her good hand. He sobs and falls on a couple of boxes, but she ignores him. She turns and peers down the attic's gaping entrance. Her heart jumps in her chest as the creature roars and hops up the steps, just centimeters from her. The other beast jumps up on the stairs as well, snarling. The steps creak beneath their weight. On the spur of the moment, a loud crack sounds and suddenly the beasts are moving forward, hurtling towards the floor along with the lower half of the staircase.</p><p>She winces at the sound of a loud thud. The beast whimper and struggle to scramble to their feet. Nancy takes her chance. Hastily, she wraps her legs around a nearby wooden beam rising from the floorboards and leans down the attic's entrance. She extends her good hand out and reaches for the string still attached to the door, stretching her fingers. Her fingertips brush against the string; a bead of sweat trickles down her temple.</p><p>"<em>Come on, damn it!</em>" Her voice is hoarse and desperate, she hardly recognizes it.</p><p>She hears that trilling sound and leans further. She grabs at it and at the second try she finally feels the string between her fingers, releasing a sound of alleviation. A beast makes a loud baying sound, leaping in the air and it's sharp claws scratching at the skin of her knuckles.</p><p>Nancy recoils and pulls the string up, shutting the hatch. She moves to tie the string on a nail then finds a wooden pallet to cover the hatch with, setting a large box on top of it as well. She can hear the monsters moving around below them, trilling, and thudding around. There was another entrance into the attic, a small door within the kitchen, she doubted the creatures could fit past it, nonetheless open the door. The attic is mostly dark, dank with a small amount of light entering from the small window across from them. Faintly, Nancy wondered what time it was.</p><p>Her arm still hurt, but the pain had faded into a dull sensation and she was lightheaded from fear and blood loss. She turns to Jason who is seated on a couple of boxes, staring at the floor and trembling, the blood that had dripped from his hairline dried and cheeks stained with tears. He breathed wetly. She felt that it would be wrong to comfort him, to tell him everything would be alright when truly even she couldn't believe that. She didn't know if anyone would come to save them, or if more of those creatures had already overrun the town.</p><p>Her mind moves to Oma and the twins. Those things had really killed them. She hadn't done what she was told.</p><p><em>Watch your grandma and your siblings</em>, mother had told her before her, and Boone set off in the car. <em>We'll be back in a few days... Don't let anyone get hurt, OK Nance?</em></p><p><em>Mom and Boone...</em> She wondered if they were alright. She suddenly missed her parents and yearned for their presence and touch. Nancy makes a strangled sound and blinks rapidly, fighting back the hot tears that prickle her eyes. Sniffling, she wipes at her eyes with the back of her good hand. There's a long silence that hangs in the dust filled air, the ambiance of the creatures' movements saturating the lull, as both siblings sit in contemplation.</p><p>Sighing, Nancy saunters over to the window at the end of the room, dropping her bat. She moves to seat herself on a small rocking chair that might have belonged to a young child, dusty all over, knocking off the stuffed rabbit from the seat. She rubs away some of the dust that had formed in the corners of the window and gazes out. There's a tree blocking her view of the ground, but between the leaves and twigs, she could make out the dark figures moving below.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>This is the first chapter for A Is For Alien is! Updates will occur irregularly, so don't expect immediate chapters! I have also posted this on Wattpad: https://www.wattpad.com/story/220463647-a-is-for-alien</p><p>A IS FOR ALIEN is an anthology of short horror stories corresponding to a letter in the alphabet. Each chapter is set in an alternate universe. Although they do not continue off one another, they are all connected in a world called The Constant (with zero ties to DST). A few characters noticeably reappear in some chapters.</p><p>I'd also like to say that there's only a few child deaths, however none of it will be extremely graphic or shown. (the next chapter will be a tad graphic.)</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. B IS FOR BASEMENT</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>TW // child death , parent death , implied/ minor religious themes</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The pallid-faced boy leans pass the doorway, peering through screens of dirty-blond hair down at the narrow staircase that descends into the foreboding darkness below.</p>
<p>His hand is pressed against the wooden door frame to remain steady, the chipped pieces of wood and peeling paint prickling his palm. He is a young boy, nine years and a few months, with unruly hair and pale blue eyes like small marbles in his face. The hairs on his arms are rigid against the frigid air that circulates the home, cladded in but a dingy tank top and loose green shorts that pause above the crooks of his knees.</p>
<p>Positioned at his side, the smaller girl presses close. The hem of his top is clutched between her small pudgy fingers, whilst the arm of the stuffed rabbit hanging at her hip is gripped in the one hand. Perhaps six years or less, a frail girl with large doe eyes and chestnut hair falling over her shoulders. Her blue nightgown is tad too long on her small frame, the end falling over her feet and trailing behind her. She seems immobilized with intense fear. The flush in her cheeks have drained, leaving her face ashen and pale. Her dark pupils are dilated with terror, focusing on the darkness pass the door.</p>
<p>In the room above the basement, a customary living space for a younger girl, she had been startled awake by peculiar noises she believed was being emitted from downstairs.</p>
<p>"Was a clatterin' kind of sound," she told the boy in a hushed tone, prior. Her eyes were wide as she spoke, dilated with recollection. She had to muster some courage, along with some urging from her toy rabbit and glow-in-the-dark stuffed bear, to leave her room. She came through the small door that connected the both of their rooms. He blocked the door with his box of toys to keep her from entering, but it didn’t seem to keep her out. "'S that basement. The Boogey Man, Jasper– I think he's down there."</p>
<p>The silver glow of the moon illuminated most of his bedroom through the blinds. Jasper's sister was perched at the edge of his bed, and her dolls were placed against the foot board. The glow-in-the-dark bear, with green fur, a pale belly, and large eyes stitched into it, would weakly light the small area it was in. And in that scarce amount of light, the tears that had spilled down his sister's cheek and dripped from her chin were visible.</p>
<p>He had felt a tinge of annoyance, the tug of sleep beckoning him back into the warmth of the covers. She looked frightened in the vast amount of light, trembling feverishly.</p>
<p>“Boogey man my foot,” he would retort, wiping at the remainder of sleep with a balled fist. "nothin' but make believe— make believe by a bunch of <em>sissies</em> scared of the dark. Ain't no such thing."</p>
<p>The Boogey Man had been introduced to his tender sister at play group by the staid, older woman named Miss Beasley, her teacher, who took no leniency towards misbehavior. It was a creature that inhabited in the darkness, with an appetite for devouring naughty children. The boogey man had no specific appearance, often taking on an ambiguous form or the appearance of something truly terrifying to said child. For days, his sister had been easily frightened and jumpy. She made sure each night that any spot where something sinister might be hiding was securely checked. Once, Jasper could recall, during a nightly check for any ghouls lurking, their stepfather Kyle pretended that the boogeyman had grabbed his arm while he was checking the closet. His sister hollered and cried, and Mother did nothing but bat Kyle playfully when he laughed at her terror. Jasper was sure Ella didn’t like Kyle for it, but she insisted that she didn’t like him because one of her friends said that he was a pig and pigs were bad.</p>
<p>She was still scared of the dark, even the boogey man, but more at ease now that she had her nightlight and bear.</p>
<p>"But those noises..."</p>
<p>Jasper supposed there was a much sensible explanation, not some made up monster. "You're only imaginatin'," he had told her simply. "Now get to bed, Ella, it's night-time."</p>
<p>"Was loud," Ella said, and waved him off. Jasper would roll his eyes. "An' it waddn't my imaginatin' neither. It was real. Just come an' scare 'im off. Pretty please?"</p>
<p>Several moments later, following long minutes of banter and wrangling, he had found himself agreeing to inspect the basement after settling on an agreement: Ella wouldn't talk for several years and she'd do all the chores until she grew very old. He, truthfully, wouldn't have made her do these things, no matter how pleasing the thought was. They would leave his bedroom, Jasper with the glowing bear underneath one arm and Ella cradling her stuffed rabbit, treading quietly pass the master bedroom, then moving down the stairs and for the hallway where the basement door loomed ominously at the end.</p>
<p>An unusual silence now surrounds the two, save for the steady beat of raindrops pelting the rooftop and spilling down the windowpanes. The glow-in-the-dark bear leans against the door frame, large eyes staring raptly at the wall across from it. Jasper blinks, staring down into the basement for a long couple of seconds before swallowing dryly and turning to his sister.</p>
<p>"Don't hear anythin'," he tells her, leaning to speak over her head. "You was pro'bly hearin' stuff, like I said."</p>
<p>Ella doesn't respond, her grip on his clothing remaining. Her eyes are riveted on the darkness, lips slightly ajar and eyelids widened. She looks as though stuck in a ghastly trance, unable to move on her own account. Irritated, Jasper tugs his shirt from her grasp then moves to roughly jab her in the side with his elbow. She recoils, emitting a small sound of shock.Her stuffed rabbit falls out her other hand. She crumples to the ground, falling on one knee, whilst clutching her side in pain. Incoming tears begin to burn the corners of her eyes and a lump of frustration wells in her throat. She blinks the wetness back, at an attempt to suppress her tears, but they continue to form.</p>
<p>"That hurted," she mewls, lower lip trembling. She glares up at him with watering eyes, slowly rising from her knelt position.</p>
<p>"I'm goin' back 't bed," huffs Jasper, sauntering off with his arms folded over his chest. He brushes past her and Ella nearly stumbles but catches herself against the wall with one hand.</p>
<p>"You hardly looked," Ella retorts, anger passing her throat. She follows him but pauses halfway as he turns the corner for the stairs. She listens to the gentle thud of his feet as he mounts the stairs, followed by silence. She feels blood escalate up her neck and warm her cheeks, her face now a deep canvas of red. Her brows are creased, more tears forming and burning the corners of her eyes, small clammy hands balled into trembling tight fists at her sides. Frustration claims her; anger boiling within her abdomen, rising like smoke in her chest, and forming a knob in her throat. She teeters on the verge of shouting and crying but finds she's able to do neither. Her shoulders slacken and she glares at the end of the hall, hands balled at her sides.</p>
<p>She turns on her heel and begins to seek out for her doll. Ella pans her gaze over the area, eyes lingering on the glowing bear against the side of the door whose plastic eyes seemingly stare back at her, and a sudden sense of panic ascents. She whirls halfway, creating an arc, hair flying and eyes bolting, frantic as they look about the hall. Her heart pounds against her ribs, drumming in her ears in a rhythmic beat as she gradually turns and treads towards the basement doorway, a large gaping mouth of pure darkness.</p>
<p>"Reggie?" whispers Ella, though it barely sounds. She's silent for a beat before continuing, "Have you fallen?"</p>
<p>She stops just a foot away, and peers through, wide-eyed. There's nothing to see. Ella leans forward for further inspection, her head passing through. And she shudders violently when she hears it, catching herself against either sides of the doorframe with both hands. Resonating deep within the basement, the faint groaning of something. Something macabre, something utterly terrifying and grisly. Ella finds she's unable to move for a long second, mouth wide open and eyes bulging, before her natural fight-or-flight response kicks in. She hurriedly backs away from the sounds, pressing her backbone against a wall.</p>
<p>"Oh, Jasper," she mumbles, the pink of her lower lip quivering and the held back tears finally flowing down her cheeks.</p>
<p>She snatches her bear from its spot and quickly leaves the hall. Just as she nears the stairway, Ella trips over the hem of her dress, she cries out, arms outstretched as her toy flies from her fingers. Her face hits the carpet with a <em>thud</em>. She struggles to sit up on her elbow, and rubs at her face with one palm, shoulders shuddering as she sobs.</p>
<p>"You shut up," hisses Jasper from somewhere. She looks up and turns her head. Though partially blinded by the dark and the tears blurring her eyes, she could make out the image of her brother making his way back down the stairs. Relief settles within her, the tug of a smile making the corner of her lip twitch, and she sits up on her elbows. "Kyle," he says quietly, and bends down to take the stuffed bear that had landed a few inches in front of her. "gettin' ready for work, I suppose. Light's on." He takes her by the forearm and lifts her up, pressing the bear to her chest. "C'mon 'fore he catches us both. Hold this, will you."</p>
<p>Ella pulls her arm back and her brother looks at her, blinking, momentarily dazed. "Jasper," she says, out of breath as though she'd been skipping rope. Ella takes a moment to suck in a breath, squeezing her toy close and eyelids fluttering. As she talks, Jasper begins to move for the stairs, his hand over the rail and poised to leave, and she keeps close to him. "Reggie. He fell into the, the basement. An' you gotta get 'im, or—"</p>
<p>He turns on her, glowering. "Told you—!"</p>
<p>"<em>Please</em>," keens Ella, nearly shouting. She clutches her bear close and looks up at him with large, watering eyes. When she speaks again, its briskly. "He's scared being on his own, 'specially when it's all dark! That scary ol' boogeymen's gonna grab 'im. You're oldest—I'm 'fraid—oh please, save my dolly!"</p>
<p>He huffs and strains his ears, listening to the sounds of shuffling upstairs and the murmurs of muffled voices. He glares at Ella who is now sobbing loudly, wiping the snot that drizzles over her upper lip with the sleeve of her gown. Sooner or later, he supposed, the noises would bring them downstairs.</p>
<p>Reggie was a pink rabbit, stuffed with cotton. Green plastic orbs sowed into its head served as eyes, long dark lashes rimming them. It grinned (that buck tooth grin that Jasper had once thought was unsettling) and a light shade of pink circles stitched to its cheeks. One ear had a red bow on it, and it wore an apron—stained with year old grape juice—with a large heart printed on it. Despite its feminine appearance, it was a boy. Reggie was extremely famous a few years before they were born; he had his own television show and amusement park. However, the amusement park was shut down and the show hadn't lasted but a year and with a small number of episodes before it was cancelled. Ella had one of the final dolls, for they were discontinued after some time. Her toy had faded in colour and had several stitches put into it from countless incidents. Despite her other toys that were more advanced and more fun to play with, like the <em>Talking Judy</em> toy that blinked and spoke or the little robot with the many lights that spun on the ground, Ella's love for Reggie never faltered.</p>
<p>Reggie was extremely special to Ella, Jasper knew, for he was the only fragment Ella had of their late father.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>In December of five years back, when he was just about four years of age and Ella a newborn, the corpse of their father was found in the parking lot of his job. The family was unaware of the events until next early morning, Christmas day, the phone rang. They were in the living area; his grandmother seated on the couch with newborn Ella in both hands while Jasper sat close staring through the blinds of the window, and with faint curiosity, watched his neighbor across the street smoke a cigarette outside.</p>
<p>The old, small television they had screened a colourful, flashy cartoon that played lowly which his grandmother seemed to take up interest in. She wore an unsightly Christmas sweater, her withered fingers had crocheted this piece for long, hectic weeks and wore it when he had refused to, and it fit perfectly on her scrawny frame. There were creases engraved along her neck and cheeks, her thin lips always curved even when she was sad and pointed nose sticking out. Grandmother kept her frizzy, grayish hair cut short, just above her narrow shoulders and never did much to it. Despite being awfully old, her features were refined, looking more like a middle-aged woman than an older, crippling one. His mother was inside the kitchen, making a meal for the family. Normally, his cousins and a couple of his mother’s friends and their kids would come over for a meal, but it seemed unlikely that Christmas. She was humming under her breath, the utensils clinking loudly against each other. The Christmas tree lit up an entire corner, the many presents underneath left untouched, for Jasper had refused to let any gift be opened until father showed up.</p>
<p>From his spot by the window, he heard his mother answer the phone within the kitchen, her voice a murmur. At least a few minutes later, they were startled by the sound of his mother wailing from within the other room. Grandmother took the liberty to see what was wrong, gently handing the baby to him and making sure that he held her correctly before disappearing out the doorway. He remembered how heavy she felt in his arms, breathing deeply and wrapped securely in a purple blanket, only her small flushed face peeking out. At the time, he was pleased to have her included in the family and did his best to help care for her, despite not being the big brother he had prayed constantly for throughout his mother's pregnancy. Mother told him that wasn’t how older brothers worked, but he wouldn’t believe her. Father told him that if he wished hard for things they would come true, so he did that.</p>
<p>Minutes later, his mother appeared in the doorway. There was a solemn look on her tear-stained, pale face as she stared . She tugged on her sleeves in an almost nervous manner, tongue darting out to lick her lower lip before she could approach him slowly. She crouched down in front of him, lowering herself to one knee so that he was staring directly into her bloodshot eyes. He would trace the creases that were engraved in her face from age and years of smoking. There was a second of quiet that felt like long minutes as he watched her impatiently. She would take Ella from him and cradle her before finally finding her own voice.</p>
<p>She'd say, a sadness in her tone that he had never heard before, "You stop waiting, now. 'll do you no good." She had paused to sniff and wipe at her face before she resumed: "Jasper, this morning your father—I was told—!"</p>
<p>Her lower lip trembled, and he remembered her bursting into tears, shoulders shaking as she sobbed, and fat tears rolled down her cheeks. Her mouth was agape as she sobbed, almost reminding him of a frightened toddler, her lips making a circular shape and a darkness past them. Ella had begun to cry as well. He would stare at her, bewildered, and his grandmother quickly entered the room and got down beside his mother. She told her, rubbing her shoulders, "Let me, go on an' calm yourself in the other room. Let me, dear."</p>
<p>His mother stood and left, Ella still wailing in her arms. Grandmother would take both his hands in her own frail, shriveled ones. He looked into her eyes, they were faded and slanted, glassy from the tears swimming in her eyes. From the seriousness in her face, he understood that moment that something grave was happening, and awaited her next words. She had a tendency for being awfully blunt and straightforward.</p>
<p>Her following few words pierced through him like a bullet, a darkness overtaking his world: "Your father is dead, Jasper."</p>
<p>Jasper perfectly understood those words; just a year before, their Manx cat had been flattened by the tire of a large truck and his father had to sit him down and teach him what death does to living creatures. He did know what <em>dead</em> meant but seemed to have trouble understanding the words she had uttered.</p>
<p>Seeing his hesitation, she rubbed her thumb over his knuckles. "That means—" she stopped herself and let out a single laugh, a dry and humorless one, "well, you're a big lad now, aren't you, boy? You do <em>know</em> what <em>it </em>means?"</p>
<p>"Yes," he would say slowly, staring past her at nothing. He felt himself enter a surreal fantasy, a dizziness beneath his eyes and his heart fluttering in his small chest. "It means..." for a moment, he was at lost for words, still trying to comprehend what was happening. "Means he's gone 'way. Forever. An' God's keepin' 'im."</p>
<p>And Grandmother nodded, a slow movement of her head. She said, "Please, try not to be upset."</p>
<p>He couldn't remember crying, or just about anything after that.</p>
<p>It turned that Grandmother had been wrong; father wasn't dead. Rather, clinging to his life in a hospital bed further out, surrounded by lots of medical equipment. They visited him a day later, way early in the morning. From what little he overheard from the conversation with his mother, the doctor, and a cop outside the room door, father was badly beaten and shot in the stomach—eventually given extensive brain damage when the side of his head made contact with concrete. He was left in the parking lot behind his job, a computer company, with a pool of blood underneath him. All his belongings and clothing were stripped from him.</p>
<p>The doctor said that father was in a coma (<em>A word</em>, the doctor said when Jasper had asked, <em>which means unable to move or speak—immobile.</em>) due to his severe injuries and no good vital signs, it was possible he would remain comatose for a long while.</p>
<p>He lied in bed with both arms at his sides, the blue blanket covered his lower half, and he was dressed in those thin, baggy white hospital gowns with the collar open revealing his chest. Bruises, dark purple, trailed up and down his entire body. There were suction cups on his collar and tubes in his forearms and chest that were linked to the medical equipment and bags of liquid hanging from poles. A plastic tube was in his nose; a band on his wrist and bandages wrapped around the side of his head stained with faint blood. One eye would be badly bruised, puffy and forced shut, sending dark tendrils down his cheek, whilst the other was open yet empty of any emotion. His nose was smashed, dark blood had congealed underneath it and was smeared along the side of his face. Father's face was bloated and nearly unrecognizable from the amount of abuse endured.</p>
<p><em>That's not </em>my<em> father,</em> he would think. Yet, he knew better.</p>
<p>A feeling wormed its way into the pit of his abdomen, pure horror. He had never seen anything like so, so terrifying and sickening, real yet unreal at the same time. Jasper had found himself unable to speak or emote, he only watched his father from afar with wide eyes and lips parted, his grandmother behind him with her arms wrapped around his shoulders. It was then he had grown a unforeseen fear of death, the word, and the powers it bared.</p>
<p>Mother would approach the bed; Ella had been left with one of mother's friends, so she wasn't carrying her around like she would have. Mother had reached out to brush her fingers over father's knuckles, tears in her eyes. She had said something to him, something Jasper couldn't recall because he was flooded with thoughts, and he believed she was silly to try to communicate with him while he was <em>immobile</em>.</p>
<p>He couldn't recall how it had happened because it happened fast. He had looked up when he heard his mother's voice and saw that she had begun to flail about, wailing while a nurse held her by the waist, shouting to another that was standing in the doorway. Mother's arms were outstretched towards father, pale fingers bending and unbending, as though trying to grab him, trying to hold him. Father had made no movements and remained in his spot, dead eyes staring blindly ahead.</p>
<p>Someone else was shouting and crying, a piercing sound that made his ears ring. And it was when he found that his throat had grown raw, that he realized it was his own voice. Grandmother would take him out the room and into the marble tiled hall, just as the doctor scurried back inside, and sit down in a chair with him in her lap. She'd press his face into her breasts and cover a hand over his face, like a mother shielding her baby from the harsh rays of sunlight, while the other shriveled hand ran up and down his forearm, long nails that would gently scrape his skin. Murmuring an unusual language into his hair, she held him while he sobbed.</p>
<p>But it wasn't his father's demise or the abrupt outburst from his mother that had made him cry. It was the sudden shove into reality, the enormous truth that someday this horror would come for him as well.</p>
<p>Eventually, after some days to and from the hospital, mother had to <em>pull the plug</em>. He hadn't the slightest idea what that meant, but grandmother provided him with one of her blunt answers. Jasper wasn't brought into the hospital when she took away the life support, telling him that she didn't want him to see, and he felt saddened that she hadn't given him the chance to say goodbye. The funeral felt very fast paced, and for the duration of it he sat quietly and kept to himself. Jasper found himself angered, watching everyone around him laughing and in good spirits, as if his father hadn't died, as though it was a regular day. Even his mother, who had been devastated days before, had been grinning and spoke enthusiastically with others. It seemed he was the only one teeming with pain and desolation, an ache in his chest and buds of grief spreading throughout him.</p>
<p>For several months he found himself in a cycle. He, often without recollection, would be sitting at the curb waiting for his father's car to pull up into the driveway, waiting by the door, sometimes expecting to find father sunken in his favorite recliner watching television. And the sudden realization, the click in his brain that tended to remind him that he would never return to his daily activities, hurt him.</p>
<p>He still could not understand it, even now as he matured. How anyone could be provoked to do something so sinister, hurt a person so badly? Why such darkness corrupted man's heart; what God would allow a man to walk the earth with no consequences of his deeds while the innocent suffered from them?</p>
<p><em>The cruel ones who like to keep fathers from their families</em>, a peculiar, fiendish little voice in his head would respond intermittently, echoing within him. <em>Cruel ones that like murderers. Cruel ones who </em>hate<em> happy families, that's who.</em></p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>The extensive hallway is made up of inky blackness, the glow-in-the-dark bear hardly plenty to lighten the entirety of the hall, but enough for them to see what's around them. Feigning begrudge, he finds himself treading behind his younger sister as they gradually approach the cellar door. Ella stops a foot away from the doorway. She watches him, sniveling and clasping her bear, as he brushes past her to observe the darkness once more.</p>
<p>"Here," Ella says after a long moment, and he turns to look at her. She outstretches her bear towards him with quaking arms, head ducked sheepishly. "Take Georgie," she continues after a beat, and Jasper only eyes the toy before squinting at her frame that is half concealed by darkness. "He'll protect you, like he protects me..."</p>
<p>"No," he mutters, waving a hand dismissively. Dejectedly, she retracts her arms slowly. "'s not bright 'nough. Go an' get the light from the kitchen for me."</p>
<p>In the dark, Ella's eyes widen slightly. She cries softly, "Kyle'll kill us, Jasper. Can't do that."</p>
<p>Jasper takes her by the shoulders, turning her backwards, and shoves her. She stumbles but maintains her balance. As he does this he says, "'f you'd hurry he'd 'nt notice."</p>
<p>Ella looks over her shoulder at him, eyebrows drawn and lower lip poking out as she frowns at him. He jerks his chin in the direction of the kitchen and she slowly, dolefully, turns away. She hugs her bear tightly, chin tucked in the fur on its head, and with reluctance begins her voyage. The illumination from her bear disappears as she rounds the corner; Jasper turns away. He's left in complete darkness, vague distress wriggling deep within him at the insight. It's a distant, childish response that he sets aside. </p>
<p>He moves his attention to the ambience surrounding him. The air conditioner runs lowly, and he can feel the air blowing cold on his bare arms and legs. Farther away, he could hear Ella messing around in the kitchen, making an awful lot of noise. Upstairs, he overhears feet thudding about in one of the rooms, and he wonders if Kyle is ready for work.</p>
<p>In the dark his eyes adjusts, and he’s able to make out the pictures hanging on the walls and the outline of the basement door. He looks into the door once more, suddenly filled with dread and curiosity. He can’t see anything. Jasper slowly moves to the side of the door. He grips his clammy fingers against the doorframe, knuckles pale, pressing the side of his face against the wall, listening intently. There's nothing for a few seconds, but Jasper is patient. His jaw is set and a tiny bead of sweat forms at his temple, despite the cool air circulating within the house. A moment passes and he hears it. The faint groaning that makes his innards heavy.</p>
<p><em>The boogey man, jasper, the boogey man—he's...! </em>This is not his own voice, but a voice that belonged to his sister. It sounds panicked, just as she was when she entered his room, but somehow frightening. The trepidation writhes high his chest and he nibbles his lower lip, suppressing it.</p>
<p>"Ain't real," he mutters to himself, assures himself, eye lids shut. It comes out mature and unperturbed; inwardly he praises himself. <em>Pipes, maybe. Or, or something else. </em>It's not enough, and he finds himself wilting. He digs the blunt tip of his nails into the chipped wood, the pace of his heart quickening. The sounds have stopped, but it resounds within him. Gaudier, deeper.</p>
<p>Thunder grumbling in the distance makes the house shudder with its impact, and he startles and exclaims quietly. He releases the doorframe and flexes his hand that feels sore, the skin there probably a tinge red if he were capable to view it in the light. Behind him he hears panting and veers his regard to his sister arriving slowly. The flashlight is grappled in both hands, her bear tucked under one arm, and she struggles to keep the light in her hold. He moves to catch up halfway. They're just out of contact when the flashlight slips from Ella's fingers, hitting the carpeted floor with a <em>thud.</em></p>
<p>Ella exclaims loudly; Jasper presses a finger to his lips, leaning in close and shushing her, brows furrowed. Tiny drops of spit fly into her face, but Ella doesn't move to wipe it off. She gives him a repentant look, hands clamped over her mouth.</p>
<p>With a role of his eyes, Jasper lowers himself to pick it up with one hand, but it weighs in his fingers and he is forced to carry it in both hands. It was Kyle's police light, the one he always took to work. On the television, Jasper had often seen police officers beat criminals with them, which gave him a reason for its mass. A flash of a cartoon in his head makes him bite back a smile. Blindly, with his fingers he searches for a button to turn it on. He grazes over the bump and presses down, the button clicking underneath his thumb. The bright beam is emitted from the tube-shaped object, the light hitting the wall.</p>
<p>"Shadow puppets," he says. He doesn't have to clarify for her to understand, and they both grin at the thought. He turns and points the light into Ella's face, who groans and screws her eyes shut and presses her teeth together.</p>
<p>"Quit it," she wines, raising a hand to block out the beam. He only grins some more and laughs, an almost melodic sound, as he waves it in her face. A sudden aggravation grips her, a feeling held back and suppressed for too long. "Jasper! <em>Jasper</em>, you stop!" she shouts, anger passing her throat, batting at him with her bear. The first time its leg brushes against the bridge of his nose, and the second time she leans forward and manages to knock him on the side of his face. The battery holder inside hits him hard in the chin, a heated ache beginning to flood in the area, and he clenches his jaw. He doesn't quite regard the pain however, momentarily dazed. "You stop it or'll go blind!"</p>
<p>He lowers the light to the floor, looking away, a faint flush rising up his neck. He is still grinning, however, though it slightly falters. Ella drops her arms, huffing and a tinge of satisfactory coursing through her.</p>
<p>"Now don't be a baby," he says and with his palm, brushes back strains of hair from his sight sheepishly. "Was only joshin'. C'mon."</p>
<p>She follows him, arms folded over her chest as they return to the entry. Ella moves to his side, inspecting charily as Jasper points it through the doorway, slicing the darkness. From his spot he uses the flashlight's extended beam to search the bottom of the basement that was visible. They're able to see the lower half of the wooden staircase, old and covered with dust, and the concrete surface covered in dirt and torn papers.</p>
<p>"Reggie?" Ella's eyes widen as they dart back and forth, searching. "Where—where's he?"</p>
<p>Jasper shrugs, shoulders jolting. He lowers the light to the steps. "Must've fallen through one of them cracks 'tween the steps."</p>
<p>Ella looks up at him with large eyes. She says, "How do you suspect? He’s much too big, 'd never fit through. An' he would've been landed on one of them steps." There's a pause and she glances at him expectantly, and he grasps her concept but remains silent. She resumes, trailing off, "You think...?"</p>
<p>"No," he says, frigidly. "Shut your mouth."</p>
<p>He takes a moment to suck in a breath; Jasper jerks his head towards the steps, but Ella shakes her head and takes a single step back, a wary look in her eyes. He turns from her and looks down at the stairs, moving forward and the first step creaking under his weight.</p>
<p>"Ack," he mutters, cringing at the dust clinging to the sole of his foot.</p>
<p>"Careful," quietly utters Ella, a sense of dread flooding through her as she peers cautiously from behind. "Boogeyman—!"</p>
<p>"Shut up, soundin' nutty," he growls through clenched teeth, heart pattering quietly in his ears. His gaze is still concerted below him. He holds the flashlight in one hand and moves to place his hand on the wooden rail beside him but stops himself spotting the spider web underneath it. "Quit your silly talk an' close the door, will you?"</p>
<p>Ella raises a brow, the other creased in confusion. "Why?"</p>
<p>"'Cause..." <em>Because, because</em>...He sought for words, however, found no exact reason to give her. There was a sensation in his torso, a yearning for escapade, an overriding wanderlust that suddenly spread through him. The feeling was fairly unusual to him; one he could not entirely depict himself. And if he could, he would have told her it was because he didn't want her to wane his sense of adventure. He wished to explore the entirety of the basement without his sister's complete presence, but with the understanding that she wasn't far.</p>
<p>Instead he looked and told her: "'Cause we've got to be <em>sly</em>, don't want Kyle to know I'm down 'ere. You'll be lookout, alright? Warn me when you hear 'im headin' downstairs."</p>
<p>Ella nods, seeming to have accepted this. Her eyes widen, and she asks, "What if the—what if he comes up the steps? An' I don't get it open in time, or I don't hear you scream when h-he catches you?"</p>
<p>He swallows whatever retort might have come up and chews his lower lip. He responds quietly, "'S why you'll close it halfway, 'kay? So 'll hurry out if he does." He adds, to brighten her melancholic mood, "'ll kick his ass anyway."</p>
<p>Ella meet his eyes and grins, tiny spaced slabs of white marble gleaming in the dimness of where she stood, then she giggles. He smiles.</p>
<p>These words, these naughty words, they often used out range of their parents. Once, the two of them left alone in the front yard, he and Ella practiced using these newly founded words. In hushed voices and suppressing their laughter, he called her a “shithead” and she (though hesitant) called him a “bastard”. The two would giggle wildly at the silliness of these words. Few of the words they knew very well, the others did not seem to have any actual definitions, merely funny sounding words that the adults would use.</p>
<p>They share a final glance before he begins to descend the stairs. Ella shuts the door, leaving it partially ajar, peering after his departing frame through the crack. She squeezes her stuffed toy close to her chest, the inward excitement within her making her rock on her heels. She felt as if she had joined a game and given a crucial role. In the dark, with but her glowing bear dimly lighting and a shred of hope, Ella lowers herself to sit. She plays out her task as guard and waits.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The pallid-faced boy with the dirty-blonde hair and marble eyes descends the flight of stairs, the heavy flashlight gripped hard in both clammy fingers, knuckles grown pale, and held out in front of him to see inches more of what lay before him. There is something cautious about his demeanor: he moves slowly, each step creaking lowly under him, plus a chary forethought evident in his expression and eyes showing attentiveness.</p>
<p>The air is musky and humid, tiny specks of dust flying past his face. Jasper breathes heavily through his nostrils, sweat trailing down his hairline. It takes a long couple of moments that feel like long minutes until he finally reaches the bottom of the steps, minor relieve as he hops down onto the ground.</p>
<p>Paper crinkles under his feet and he lowers the flashlight to the torn newspaper pages that seem to cover up half of the floor, crumpled and browning from age. He raised the flashlight and waves it in an arc, observing his surroundings. He lets out a small gasp of surprise and a tinge of amazement at the boxes stacked and sprawled everywhere. Jasper moves to try and peer into one but pauses mid-step.</p>
<p>
  <em>My dolly, my Reggie.</em>
</p>
<p>He nods to himself with a heave of a sigh, reminded of his mission. He begins his search, starting to examine the ground by the stairs and kicking around the newspapers through his saunter. There's no sight of the pink rabbit and he ends his rummaging, diverted by the newspapers and what's printed on them. He squats down and lifts one close to his face, pointing light onto it with one hand, squinting at the blurred letters that wriggle on the page. It is only half of the original page, smeared with dirt that looked like it might have been done by a sneaker and faded splotches in some places.</p>
<p><em>Missing Teenagers and Unidentified Driver</em>, words written in large bold letters are sprawled under headshots of five older looking kids printed in black and white. It looked as though the pictures were taken from an old yearbook; they're dressed lavishly, faces made up, and grinning into the camera. Their names were beside the pictures in small words, <em>(From left to right) Quinlan Mahoney, Edward Lundy, Arthur and Cassandra Jones, and Evangeline Eastburn</em>. He reads on, a gradual process for he had forgotten his glasses on his bedside, faintly captivated.</p>

<p></p><blockquote>
  <p>
    <em>"They were planning to visit a theme park, I believe," recalled Melissa Eastburn, mother of Evangeline Eastburn, fingering a sweater that belonged to her daughter. She invited reporters in for an interview inside her home, where she showed them her daughter's room. Eastburn expressed great devastation and suppressed tears throughout the interview. "I remember her telling me about it since January. They were all childhood friends and hated the thought of splitting for college without a goodbye, and so this trip was a way to spend one last time together before abandoning their childlike ways in favor of adulthood. A trusted adult of one of her friends, I believe, had offered to drive them. The group came by the house in a van, and she took the things she packed and left... We never said goodbye. We never usually did; I expected her to be back home once the trip ended, and I'm sure she did as well. I spent the duration alone in the house, only twice I tried to call her cell phone just to check in. She never answered. I assumed it was because she was embarrassed to talk to her mom in front of her friends—which wasn't unusual, she did this often— so I brushed it off and stopped calling. I hadn't kept up with the time, and it was until I got a call..."</em>
  </p>
</blockquote><p>He finds it hard to continue reading on, via the dirt covering up most of the page as well as the rest torn. Jasper liked to read, and often found himself quickly drawn once he began so, and he was partially eager to find out what happened next. He tries to scrub the dirt off but it's no use; he quickly loses interest and tosses the newspaper behind him. It drifts and gently lowers itself to the ground, sliding underneath the staircase. Jasper moves to examine the boxes across from him, discarded newspapers rustling under his feet.</p>
<p>He approaches a box and lowers himself beside it. He places the flashlight under his arm, its light aiming at the other boxes ahead, and he uses the blunt tip of his nail to peel at the tape keeping it closed. It takes him long, grating moments until he is decisively capable to tear the off the strip, releasing a small sound of elation. Jasper peers inside, a beat, then he reaches in to pull out a mask. It's wooden with a smooth surface, carved deftly with concentration, no actual design put on to it making it awfully bland. There's something faintly eerie about the way it grins with a gaping mouth, hollow eyes seemingly staring at him. He slides it beneath the elastic waistband of his shorts, deciding to keep it. He imagined frightening Ella with it once he made it back up the stairs, and the thought made him giddy. He looks back into the box: There are clothes inside, sizes too large to belong to him. He lifts a shirt, tattered with faded stains, close to his face and sniffs to inhale a fusty stench. Jasper drops it, beginning to gag but swallows back down the heated bile that raised in his throat.</p>
<p>There's a prolonged high-pitched sound, like the whimper of a wounded dog, which makes him startle and freeze. A dark form moves behind the stack of the boxes, passing the beam of his light, disappearing into the inky blackness on the other side of the basement. Jasper stares into the dark, eyes bulging and a loud, irregular throbbing in his ears. Terror held him in a vice-like embrace, his mouth his slightly agape, lower lip trembling and body tense and unmoving.</p>
<p>It takes him several beats to gain control of himself once more, and he rises from his spot slowly with quivering legs. He swallows and moves the flashlight into one clammy hand. Jasper presses a palm against his groin, there is dampness in the region, but he hadn't pissed himself.</p>
<p><em>Yet</em>. The thought is involuntary. He barks a single laugh, lacking any actual humor.</p>
<p>He points the beam on the other side of the room. It shines on a couple of boxes lined up near the bricked wall, making almost what looked like a makeshift castle. Jasper adjusts the mask sticking out of his shorts. He whispers, the heavy tremble making his voice sound unrecognizable, "not 'fraid of you, b-beastie."</p>
<p>Stepping forward, he ignores the way his innards jolt rearwards in defiance. Sweat dribbles from his jaw, and his heart thumps irregularly between his ears. He moves slowly, not actually thinking about his movements for fear had flooded his thoughts, almost being pulled frontward by some magnetic force.</p>
<p>He brings one shaky hand up to wipe the perspiration beginning to cling to his eyelash. He approaches and rounds the stack of boxes, the boxes and bricked wall enclosing him. He points the light ahead, and it lands on a box in a corner. Something within him remarks its shadiness but he disregards it. There’s a vulgar odor that comes from it as he edges closer, and he can’t fight the stinging bile that rises in his throat. He gags and clamps a hand over his mouth and nose, peering at the box through watering eyes. This box is different from the dust covered ones at his side. It’s bigger, lumpy with stains, sealed over twice with tape, the words <em>Samson’s</em> written over it.</p>
<p><em>Samson</em>. He blinks and crouches by the box, curious. It takes him a couple of beats, but eventually he’s able to peel the tape and lift the tabs open. He gasps, something of shock and minor amazement. It’s a mascot suit, he guesses, stuffed into the box in a partial fetal position. It’s fur is a lavender brown colour, a rabbit looking creature with a rubber face and rosy cheeks. It has an eerie grin, jagged buck teeth sticking out, and pale green, googly eyes that seem to look in either direction. It’s large, probably the size of an adult, and that rotten smell seems to be coming from it.</p>
<p>Its creepy, he thinks, and he can’t stop staring at it. A strange familiarity spreads through him, but he doesn’t understand it. He raises a hand, poised to make some sort of contact. In a trice, the suit suddenly shudders, making him pause and his heart skip, before lurching at him. Jasper lets out a sound, a high shriek, fumbling with the flash light before getting a solid grip. Abruptly, he scrambles to his feet and bolts. He runs, soles of his feet pounding against the ground and nearly slipping on the newspaper pieces, flailing arms knocking over a few stacked boxes and their contents. He overhears the sounds of glass shattering and papers spilling but doesn't stop or look over his shoulder.</p>
<p>The boy nearly stumbles when he reaches the bottom of the staircase but catches himself on the stair rail. He leans against the rail, his sweaty forehead pressed against his forearm. The throbbing in his head has grown intense and he screws his burning eyes shut, gritting his teeth and breathing hard.</p>
<p>"Jasper," a small, urgent voice whispers from the top of the stairs. A rush of relief courses his veins and feels his shoulders slacken with ease. Jasper lifts his head slowly, squinting at the small illumination seeping through the cracked door. "Jasper, you're takin' an awfully long while. Can you hear me? I can see your light..."</p>
<p>"Yeah," he mutters, voice hoarse. He looks behind him… There's nothing. She doesn't speak and he assumes she didn't hear him. He clears his throat and speaks up, "Hear you."</p>
<p>He listens to the door creak as she opens it a little wider, and he imagines her small face peering pass the door. "Kyle's downstairs, I can hear 'im movin' 'round. You'd best hurry 'fore her gets us. Have you found Reggie?"</p>
<p>He'd forgotten Reggie. He doesn't respond or have much time to. He parts his lips to speak, though just before he can let any words pass a low groaning sounds, echoing. A spasm of terror sets him shuddering, his heart skipping, and beings to mount the steps. A sense of dread crawls into the pit of his stomach.</p>
<p>Ella's voice comes again, "Hurry, come before—"</p>
<p>"Shut up, Ella!" he shouts, a sudden anger passing his throat. He begins to clamber up faster. "You—!"</p>
<p>A guttural growl silences him, loud and extremely near. Before he can react or process, his foot is pulled through the wooden step. Sharp nails dig into his flesh, drawing fresh blood that trickles from the wound. A scream rips from Jasper's throat, gripped in sheer panic and horror.</p>
<p>"Jasper!" Ella's shrill voice shouts.</p>
<p>"The boogeyman's got me!" he shrieks. He desperately wriggles his foot, nails gripping into the wooden rail at his side and the flashlight fallen from his clammy fingers. He only endures more pain as he fights for his foot back, a heated pain coursing up his leg, the claws only digging further. Warm tears make their way down his chin.</p>
<p>"I won't let 'im eat you!" Ella responds, she clutches her toy close to her chest and staggers back from the door, panic filling her. "I'ma get mummy—don't let 'im eat you, Jasper!"</p>
<p>She turns on her heel and runs. She exclaims when she blindly crashes into something in the dark, falling on her rear. The hallway light turns on, it's harsh light brightening the walls. Ella squints up at the tall figure in front of her, a large, blurred image. Her eyes adjust and she's looking up at a large older man who looks down at her with brows creased in confusion, in his grip a pistol. A woman's face appears over his shoulder, staring at her with widened eyes and fingers on the light switch. None of them speak for a moment, processing shock.</p>
<p>A large<em> boom </em>followed by several other loud noises come from the basement, they all startle and snap their heads towards the sound, then it is still.</p>
<p>"What in the hell was that?" the woman says loudly, agitation edging in her tone. After a beat, she steps quickly around the man and tightens the belt of her robe, dilated eyes focused on the door at the end of the hall. She looks down at the Ella, "Was that your brother?"</p>
<p>Ella discards her bear and crawls from the man towards her mother with her head lowered and dark strains of hair concealing her eyes. She places herself between her mother's legs and looks up at her with large, wet eyes. "Mummy," she begins, "The--the b-boogey man's got Jasp-per! He took my Reggie an' he's gonna e-e-eat Jasper!" She tugs on the hem of her robe. "Save him, 'fore he's--"</p>
<p>She doesn't continue, pressing her forehead against her mother's knee before sobbing. Mother doesn't move; she stares at the basement door for a long moment, something strange in her eyes. She slowly looks to the man who meets her gaze. </p>
<p>"Go an' <em>save </em>him," she says, jerking her chin in the direction of the door, nostrils flaring. She lowers herself to pick Ella, lifting her underneath her arms. She stands with Ella on her hip who buries her face between her mother's neck and shoulder. She continues, turning, "I'll put Ellen to bed. Make sure he hasn’t broken anything down there."</p>
<p>The man nods once, and she rounds the corner.</p>
<p>He approaches the door, and with some uncanny reluctance, pushes the door open. Its golden hinges creak loudly, reverberating within the basement. He listens to the odd silence, standing awkwardly in the doorway. He realizes the gun is still in his grasp and he shoves it back into the holster. It was a nasty habit. He raises his head and notes the large hole in the middle of the stairs, a beam of light emitting, and his eyes widen as he gasps quietly. Tentatively, he steps forward, eyes lowered to the steps and palm pressed against the rail. The step creaks under his heavy boot; he treads warily and pauses a step away from the hole. He carefully leans forward, instantly aware of the sweat beginning to form on his forehead, to peer inside. His eyes widen and he gasps quietly. He quickly turns away and doubles over, overcome with an upsurge of sudden nausea. He gags, chest heaving, but nothing comes out.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>His breath came in ragged, shallow gasps.</p>
<p>The searing pain that had sprouted through his body faded into numbness. Darkness pierced the edges of his vision, his heartbeat loud in his ears and hot tears burn his eyes. He lies on his stomach, cheek pressed against the filth coated floor, listening to the muffled sounds above him that seem to grow further away.</p>
<p>He coughs, the blood filling his lungs spilling out between his lips, dribbling down the corner of his mouth and spattering the floor. A large piece of wood broken off the stairs sticks from his back, coated with dark blood and bits of intestines stuck to its jagged edge. It tore through his shirt, plunged into skin and tearing through muscle, planting itself deep within him. His foot had been amputated as well, a bloody stub squirting blood. He was trembling violently, he couldn't control himself.</p>
<p>Jasper stares, stuck in some sort of vegetative state.</p>
<p>The thought of pain is only minor, his mind drifts off to a new one. This thought is not a jumble of words but images. He thinks about his father. He sees him lying in the hospital bed, dead gaze staring off someplace else. He pondered if this is the kind of agony father undergone while immobile, just before mother had to end it all.</p>
<p>The stuffed rabbit lies just a few inches from him, propped up against the wall. It grins at him as it observes his misery, that grin that always made him uneasy, and he stares back, becoming groggy.</p>
<p>"<em>No fear</em>," The rabbit says as darkness spills from its eyes and through the cracks between its teeth, filling Jasper's vision. It's a male's voice, lulling yet eerily familiar. He feels his muscles relax as his surrounding draw away, blackness embracing him. He finds it comforting.</p>
<p>The pipes groan lowly, reverberating inside the cellar, and upstairs sounds a wail.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Thank you for reading! </p>
<p>This was originally written as a stand alone story back in 2017 or 2018. I've been working on this one for a while, and I apologize if it seems strangely different from the last chapter!</p>
<p>Remember, although each chapter does not continue off of each other and occur in separate timelines/universes, they're still connected in a way. A few characters might reappear in different stories, and there might be a few familiar elements as well.</p>
<p>This was also posted on Wattpad: https://www.wattpad.com/865146277-a-is-for-alien-b-is-for-basement</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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